


WinterWidow

by WintersKeeper



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassins & Hitmen, Assets & Handlers, Brainwashing, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Marvel Universe, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Red Room (Marvel), Sad with a Happy Ending, Soviet Union, Survival, War, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, buckynat - Freeform, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersKeeper/pseuds/WintersKeeper
Summary: This is a story of Natalia Romanova and James Barnes, using both the comics (and a bit of mcu) to tell the story to how the two assassins met and fell in love.It is set in the 1950s onwards, James I have put around the age of 20-21 and Natalia (Natasha) would be 18-19. I will be including the fact she was trained by Logan, (Wolverine) as done in the comics, and is now under the Black Widow training program. Her memory is fragmented to their liking, a false past and future, much like James with no memory of who he once was either. The story opens to the Winter Soldiers arrival at the Red Room Academy.I use google translate for the languages, so apologies if the translation is incorrect, please let me know in the comments so I can correct it.
Relationships: Buckynat, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Winterwidow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	1. The Arrival

The snow moved in quickly, bogging up the roads, making the transportation trucks even more bumpy and uncomfortable than usual. Still, the soldier sat in chains, silently. His long hair covered most of his features, large buckles around his ankles and wrists, a further strap around his metal limb.

He was trained to only respond when spoken too, never to say a word otherwise, his movements were always calculated and to a precise point. His ears listened in to the Russian and German accents combined, always aware of his surroundings, despite his silence. "по этой дороге" The Russian officer spoke, his eyes slowly raising, feeling the truck turn into a side road.

"Sie denken, dem Soldaten kann vertraut werden" The German replied quietly, now discussing whether or not he could be trusted with this mission. The Soldier's eyes flickered slowly to the men in the back of the truck on either side, armed, one with a remote to the shock collar around his throat.

One of them turned to catch his direct eyesight, and a strong hand was thrown across his jaw, "Augen runter!" The german demanded, the soldier didn't flinch from the hit though his head jolted from the impact, his eyes lowering on command. The guards and handlers didn't like being looked in the eye, the soldier never understood why, he didn't need to.

The truck then pulled up, swaying in the snow, the handlers moving to unbolt the chains and remove the collar, "für mich Soldat." One commanded, and immediately his legs were under him, and he was stomping from the back of the vehicle into the thick snow outside.

He wasn't given a jacket, he didn't need it, HYDRA's serum had counted the harsh weather conditions to a point he hardly felt the cold at all anymore. He followed the handler, standing at his side, silent as they were greeted by a tall woman rugged up from the snow. She spoke forwardly, confidently, much like his own handlers.

"General Dreykov assured me you would be arriving today." Her accent heavily Russian, "Still, I don't see the price worthy of a single man, with only one arm. I would like him inspected before I pay your price."

The soldier didn't flinch at such things, didn't react, he was trained not to. However, one of the woman's guards did approach him, "Relax Soldat." One handler commanded. Then, the guards hands were all over him; tugging his hair, moving his arms, shifting his boots. The soldier had his eyes downcast, obedient, compliant with everything he was asked to do.

Then, the woman spoke a command that happened to also be a trigger word given to her by the German scientists division, HYDRA. "Kündigen." The soldier's eyes slowly ascended, the guard still treating him how he pleased, laughing and taunting the soldier. What happened next was quick, quicker than any of those standing there would have predicted, blood trickled down over the shining metal hand around the man's neck, crushed and gaping as the man was held off the ground, choking on his own blood.

"You call him The Winter Soldier, yes?" The female spoke, the german handlers nodded, signalling for the soldier to be rid of the now dead man in his hand. The soldier dropped the body, his metal arm returning to his side, once more silent with his eyes forward- never looking directly at those superior to himself.

"Soldat, Vermögenswert, …never by name." The handler reciprocated. "He will serve you well, Madame B. and train your girls as he has been trained." He watched as his collar and chains were passed on to the remaining guard, and the woman shooed him away. "We will not need those, here at the academy we encourage lethal force, if he breaks one of my girls, he is simply doing me a favour." She explained, "Come, soldat. We have work to do."

He followed behind the woman, climbing the steps to the academy, an overhanging doom deep within his stomach but never shown. His eyes daring to wander as his handlers' trucks pulled away in the snow, there sat on a window sill, a young woman with red hair. His eyes lingered only slightly, no emotion shown, before he followed the Madame into the building.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite being on this godforsaken planet for 18 years she had nothing to show for it. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Nothing to show would imply she was a hermit, Natalia was anything but. Every morning would start the same, a routine that would need to be carried out perfectly if she wished to see the light of another day. Each day she would patiently wait to be released from her ‘bed’, the chains didn’t burn as much as they used to. She didn’t particularly feel much pain anymore. As each day would end the cold metal grasp would take her hold again, keeping ‘Mother Russia’s Weapons’ secure. Any part of her being before she entered the facility was long gone. That’s what they did. They effectively scrubbed everything out that made Natalia who she was and replaced it with who they wanted her to be. They conditioned her. Psychochemical. Very crude but very powerful. The memories they drilled into her mind were pleasant. She could enjoy them. 

But if Natalia ever tried to think logically about it, the effect was as powerful as it was lethal. The headache, the nausea, leading eventually to unconsciousness. It was better left unknown. Nothing about her was normal, though as far as she was aware she was a masterpiece. She never asked to become a nightmare, but that didn’t stop them from making her one.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She didn’t feel. Not anymore. Or at least not when she wasn’t completely and utterly alone. Not even the confines of her mind was safe. Sometimes the blood drowns her. But sometimes she breathes it in. She accepts the iron clad wrap around her throat. Sometimes she wants to rip apart her own seams. But then the anger and betrayal in her mind drags her back from the brink, the mission, the country, the endgame. It was all the same. Little girls like her were not meant to be whole. Then she’s find herself spinning. A perfect ballerina. One. Two. Three. Living her life in a perfect sequence. 

Four. Five. Six. Arms raised in front, one foot to her opposite knee. Seven. Eight. Nine. The perfect pirouette. Choking back sobs whilst she spins. But not anymore. Her grasp on reality was faint. She was not meant to be whole. She is grateful she can never be broken. She has no place in the world. The red headed Russian is grateful to be alive. Many she had trained with and fought against had perished. Some by the hand of her trainers others by her own two hands. In some cases all it took was one. A snap of a neck here. A fatal slice there. A bullet hole. Poison. Strangulation. Each more brutal than the last. Yet she didn’t fear death. How could she? 

Natalia and the other orphaned children that had been indoctrinated and brainwashed were taught not to raise suspicions whether that be through subliminal messages in westernised films.

“𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺, 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬...”

“𝗜𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹 𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗻. 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹 𝗙𝗲𝗮𝗿.”

That wasn’t even the half of it. Torture would be the only reasonable way to even begin to describe the curriculum at that institution. Each handler as brutal as the last. Each failed student as dead as the last. But never Natalia. She was made of marble as Madame B would often congratulate her. Just the night before she’d been tasked with eliminating a follow student, the young girl had cried on completion of her first kill. A sin in the eyes of their handlers. A weakness that needed to be eradicated. 

Natalia heard rumours, murmurings, someone or rather something was coming. Her body was burning from her latest round of ‘cognitive realignment’, she’d been most successful so she was granted a brief seven minute respite for the seven perfect tasks she’d completed. That was the first time she saw him. The man with the metal arm.


	2. Reset and Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After following Madame. B. into the facility, the Winter Soldier is reset and Natalia is tasked with taking care of the soldier until morning.

Soft ballet music filled the soldiers ears after the loud echo dispersed from the closing doors, wind howling behind the glass stained windows, the lobby opening into a large winding staircase that stretched up toward the many floors above. His eyes wanted to wander, to explore, a deep need to know everything he could about this foreign place. About why he had been brought here, so far from any civilization that he'd starve before reaching any likeness of a city or town, he'd wondered why the institution had gates.

If the students had tried to leave, they would die well before someone of his own stature, his eyes lifted only slightly as his inner voice broke through only for a split second. When he did, his eyes met with Madame B. "I knew those men hadn't broken you completely." she muttered under her breath. "No matter, here you will be broken, properly, trained just like our own students only harder." She nodded and two metal batons made contact with the backs of his legs, he fell to his knees, eyes on the mistress as no noise left his mouth despite the redness he could feel swelling in the backs of his legs. "You will learn to walk and talk like an American, the art of dance and seduction, you will become the perfect male specimen for my girls." 

He felt a gag drawn over his mouth, a grunt escaped his throat, the mistresses hand moving to tilt his chin up. "Begin phase one, I don't want any of his past returning to him whilst he is here, just like all the others- I want a fresh canvas. But-" she turned toward the two guards now on either of his arms, "-Keep his trigger words and word associations, saves us the trouble, make sure he knows that I am now his handler. He listens to no one, but me." Her lips pulled into a thin smile, one that both comforted and sent rippled chills over his skin. "We will make you a perfect weapon yet-" Her hand gripped his jaw a little too tight, "-they told me your serum allows you to withstand copious amounts of physical pain, but what about mental strength? Hm?" She pulled the gag back so it cut into his cheek and nodded to the guards, "Go with these men, Soldat, do you understand?"

He looked forward, ignoring the pain, "YA gotov otvetit'." The Russian wording automatically falling from his mouth, slightly muffled from the gag as Madame B. let it move back in place. The Soldier stood, his legs burning from impact of metal to skin, as the guards moved so did he.

They walked down a few flights of stairs, into a large operating theatre, turning a corner to find a large cushioned chair with metal strappings and bolts, just like the one at HYDRA. His eyes stayed trained up on it, pausing his movement, the guards behind bumping into him. "Sit, Soldat." One commanded, pointing to the chair, his heartbeat beating so loudly in his ears that it made him dizzy.

He didn't want to move, he wanted to stay where he was, an inner turmoil beginning to rise within him. His foot moved forward first, then the other and his chest began to rise and fall a little unevenly. Several people in lap coats moved forward to undo his leather suit, stripping him of it without struggle, attaching leads and wires to both his body and head.

He wanted to lash out, to fight back, but he didn't. He stayed still, arms down by his side, allowing them to do as they pleased. "Open." Another demanded, a mouth guard in his hand, the soldiers eyes deadly, glared back at the doctor as his mouth opened willingly. His chest was pressed back into the chair, metal bindings securing his metal arm, his chest now breathing a little more erratically as the chair lent back and sparks flew from the head piece descending toward him.

Fear. Pain. That's all he saw, and finally the soldiers eyes softened from their stoic position, worry washed over them, and pain shot through his skull as he screamed. Again.... and again.

When they stopped, it was because they had to in order to reserve his brain capacity, even someone with enhanced serum had their limits.

The team worked quickly to secure the soldiers eyes, keeping them forced open and tied down to the head, a screen flickering across with different images of a girl and seven smaller men. "Repeat the words soldat." The doctor spoke, removing the mouth guard as the screen moved closer to the soldiers eyes.

They left him there for hours, until returning to the soldier repeating the same three words. His eyes flickering side to side, completely in tune with the screen. Madame B. watched for a while before signalling them to let the soldier up. The machine retracted and she moved before him, "What is your mission here, soldier?"

His eyes glanced forward, exhausted, but present. "внушать, страх, боль." His Russian accent almost perfect. Repeating the same three words fluently. She seemed impressed by this and nodded, "Guards." Her voice called, a young woman standing behind the woman emerged, "Find him a room." 

The guards pulled the soldier up as he stumbled into their arms, half dragging him down the hallway into the room at the bottom of the stairs. Here they left him curled in on himself, resting on the bed, shaking from the treatment and unable to shut his eyes.

A knock came from his door, and he groaned, chest still heaving as his body recovered, "This is Natalia, she is here to look after you till morning." A plate of food was left on the bench with a wash bucket and new clothes, the door locked behind them both. Not only a test for the soldier, but also for the young agent, his eyes landed on hers and narrowed dangerously.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natalia had remained silent as the male entered the building, before curiosity could get the better of her, the seven minute respite was up. She rose and turned, movements still graceful despite the deep gnawing pains that her body felt even if it didn’t quite reach her mind anymore. Natalia slipped into her ballet shoes and began to repeat the sequence not ten times but fifty times. She would dance until her feet bled and then more. But god help her if she stumbled or even made a mark on hardwood floor. The harsh rasp of the handler’s voice pierced the air time after time. “Again” he would bark at her and the five other girls she danced beside.

With each spin a gunshot could be heard in the distance. A scream echoed if you listened close enough. A soul broken. A fragile mind snapped. For a place that prided itself on perfection, there were a hell of a lot of cracks in the foundations. 

‘𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘭𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘪.’

She was one of twenty-eight that much was true. She was one of twenty-eight Widows. A bright white blinding pain almost caused her to fall but she controlled it. Control. That was a strange concept to her. 18 years of age and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had control of her own body let alone her own mind. The pain was her punishment for having drifting thoughts.

‘𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵-‘

“Сделай это снова” the handler commanded.

The training was brutal. Each spin felt like it might be her last. Each movement still as pointed as the one that came before it. Hands clenched behind her back as if bound by an invisible force.

‘— 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘚𝘶𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺’

That was expected. 

‘— 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 —‘

The hours gruel by, each movement as painful as the last until she slipped into the numbness. Natalia found comfort in the empty. No pain. No commands. No nothing. She’d grown too fast. Became too good too quick. They expected things of her now. If a student couldn’t complete a task she would complete it for them, and then she would terminate the failure. Weakness was not an option.

A silence fell over the studio as Madame B entered the room. The six widows stood there, hands still bound by the invisible chains behind them, forced onto the points of their bruised and broken toes. “My perfect girls...” she almost sighed in content. The older woman walked down the line of ballerinas before coming to a stop in front of Natalia.

“Наталья. Следить.” And with that she turned on her heel and began to walk out of the room. The music started again as the remaining five students began to move once more in perfect synchrony. Natalia on the other hand followed Madame B out of the studio, head down. She was only to speak when spoken to. She knew that by now despite the curiosity that ate away at her. It wasn’t worth dying over.

Natalia stood obediently against the wall as she watched the exchange before her. The man with the metal arm caught her attention again. She was being introduced to him. It was the first time she was being informed of her instructions, given little to no preparation was not uncommon in her line of work. The young woman didn’t even flinch when the door slammed shut behind her, leaving them alone in the cold room. Madame B’s final words lingered in her ear.

“You will not kill him.”

“Understood,” Natalia replied coldly.

Slowly, Natalia’s gaze shifted to the male. Was he a test for her? She was tasked with ‘looking after him’ rather than terminating him. The concept in itself confused her completely. She was no Matron. Natalia studied him intently without even making it obvious she was doing so. He was covered in scars. His whole shoulder was a mass of scar tissue and twisted knots. Fused with a metal arm that gleamed in the depressing light.

— 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 —

She glanced at the tray of food. Enough for one. She knew it was intended for him more so than her. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time she would feel the burn of starvation. Her eyes then fell on the wash bucket. He could wait a little while longer before she cleaned his injuries. How long would he continue to stare at her?

He scared her.


End file.
